


Maybe in Another Life

by phenanthrene_blue



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Based on a True Story, Chicago Cubs, Colorado Rockies, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sad Ending, Wild Card Game, maybe a little fluffy?, sportsmanship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 08:42:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17261102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phenanthrene_blue/pseuds/phenanthrene_blue
Summary: September was a terrible month.By nature, pennant races are marathons, and not sprints.This September, however, was the hardest, most exhausting race of Javy’s life, because the universe seemed to be conspiring against the Cubs.





	Maybe in Another Life

September was a terrible month. 

By nature, pennant races are marathons, and not sprints.

This September, however, was the hardest, most exhausting race of Javy’s life, because the universe seemed to be conspiring against the Cubs. Forty games without an off-day. Inconvenient weather forcing strange travel times to multiple time-zones. Fatigue and nagging injuries. An offensive power outage, surging opponents that refused to lose to anyone, and a five-game lead that just _evaporated._

They have a disastrous Game 163 on _Monday_ , and then have to play a Wild-Card game on _Tuesday_. It’s a perfect storm of _shit_ , and by Tuesday evening, Javy knows that the Cubs aren’t going to make it any further.

Most of them do. It’s just not their year.

But damn if they’re not going to try anyway. The fans show up in encouraging numbers, because there’s still _life_ somewhere in there. The anticipation and optimism in Wrigleyville are palpable, and the weather, despite being a little cold, is surprisingly nice for October in Chicago.

Jon, who has been in playoff form for a month or so, guts it out for six innings. But Freeland, his opposite number, is tough and sharp and utterly perplexing, and it’s 1-0 in the 8th. The one run belongs to Colorado, however, because Nolan Arenado is a pain in the ass.

(It was only a sacrifice fly, but that still counts, both on the scoreboard, and towards being a pain in the ass.)

Bottom of the eighth. There are two outs, and Terry’s just stolen second. It’s Javy’s turn, and the crowd, _his_ home crowd, his favorite turbulent, drunken sea of blue, is letting him hear it. They’re chanting his name, and this is what Javy lives for: loud, high-pressure situations where his hyper-focus ignites, time slows down, and a slider backs up over the plate. He knocks it off the center-field wall and Terry bolts for home.

Tied.

It’s _something._

The score stays 1-1 through the 8th, 1-1 through the 9th, and 1-1 right into extras. The Cubs give the Rockies nothing; the Rockies give them _nothing_ back. They swing and miss, swing and miss, ground out, fly out, and _swing and freaking_ miss some more. And then panic sets in. Joe’s trying to keep everyone calm, but there’s way too much nervous energy humming around the dugout. Willy is pacing around and around, Anthony is an emotional wreck and it’s rubbing off on Kris, and Jon, who is intense and stoic but normally polite, finally, actually _snaps_ before the bottom of the 10th.

“Holy _Shit!_ ” He throws his hands in the air. “Okay, will one of you guys just _hit a goddamned bomb already_ so we can go home?”

Ben is laughing at him. Ian is going _c’mon man, we got you_.

Javy is silent, because right now, he _can’t deal with it_. He normally can. Everything from the end of March until now has lead to _this_ , however. The thought that that this entire year, this entire massive portion of Javy’s energy and Javy’s life and Javy’s soul hinges on _the next couple of hours_ … _hurts_. It will likely end, and that _hurts_. It’s looming large, curled up in his gut, and it really _hurts_.

 _They’re not going to make it._ They’re just too tired, and too many things are _wrong_. A second team in as many days is going to trash their visitors’ clubhouse, while he and his teammates are going to…drink, hug it out, and cry. That’s how it’s going to end. They’re not going to get their shot at revenge against the Brewers. The Chicago Tribune is going to do a scathing postmortem in the morning. They’re not going to make it, and there is absolutely no comfort in that thought.

Javy _needs_ comfort, but there is none to be found. 

Not as the game heads into the eleventh without resolution, and not in this dugout, where Joe’s mumbling into the bullpen phone again, and all of the excitement is slowly being replaced by resignation. He thinks about his mother, his brother, his fiancee, his baby son, about Frankie and Yadi, his best friends in Cleveland and St. Louis; about Theo, who really always liked him. He thinks about how they’re all separated from him, right now, by geography or circumstance or time.

That just makes it worse.

In the bottom of the eleventh, Javy walks. He walks only because the command’s not there, and it’s late, and he’s honestly too exhausted to swing. Albert gets him to second with a deep fly, and Danny walks. Danny can’t hit, much like the rest of them, but the Rockies seem scared of him anyway, so Javy doesn’t question it. There’s only one out, so the whole park wakes up. 

Then Willy, _damn it all_ , hits a weak bouncing grounder right to _pain in the ass Nolan Arenado_.

Nolan fields it easily. It’s going to be a double play, but Javy runs anyway, half-speed, toward third.

Halfway there, he hesitates. He’s not even sure why he hesitates. Nolan doesn’t try to throw to first and instead tries to slow his momentum. It’s going to be a low-speed one, but there’s definitely going to be a collision, something really awkward and stupid that’s probably a microcosm of this entire night.

Nolan puts his hands up to stop it, but then he opens his arms and Javy does the same and they slide into one another, pinstripes into purple, like a ball fitting into a glove.

Nolan wraps his arms gently around Javy’s shoulders, and Javy returns the gesture and squeezes Nolan around his waist.

“Hey there.” Nolan says, a tired almost-sigh.

“Hi.” Javy whispers, feeling his ear graze against the side of Nolan’s neck.

It lasts just a couple of seconds, but Javy holds on tight. Almost too-tight, because he is cold and Nolan is warm, and his thoughts and this game are hard and unforgiving, and Nolan is… _not_.

And this is oddly comforting, perhaps, simply, because it is so unexpected. Because it actually transcends Javy’s desire to be competitive, transcends this nerve-wracking mess of a game, and right now, that’s okay.

The crowd laughs lightly, the Cubs’ organist plays a silly little riff, and Javy’s out, with a _bear hug_.

With one more press of his chin into Nolan’s shoulder, Javy lets go.

“Hey, good luck.” Nolan pats Javy twice on his arm.

“See ya.”

Javy watches Nolan for a moment as he backs away. He knows he’s looking at him, looking at his _opponent_ with the same fondness he normally reserves for those closest to him, and that’s okay too.

Because in that two-point-five seconds, or whatever it was, someone _understood_.

Javy exhales, shakes his head, and heads to the dugout.

It’s all over in the thirteenth. Some guys are simply better as starters than as relievers, and Kyle Hendricks is obviously one of those guys. He leaves the ball up, over the plate, and some backup catcher for Colorado finally breaks the tie. 

It’s _not Nolan_. Javy is almost relieved that _at least it’s_ _not Nolan this time_.

Three batters, including himself. There are three more chances, including himself.

Which end in three completely awful, just-invoke-the-mercy-rule-already strikeouts.

Including by himself.

It was all but expected, but there’s still that crashing realization that _the bottom has finally fallen out_. That it’s over.

“Well.” Jon shrugs as everyone starts to file from the dugout down into the clubhouse. “ _That_ happened.”

Before Theo comes down and tells them how proud he is of all of them, before Joe does the same, before someone brings out the whiskey, before Ben leads a group of them in a quiet prayer, and before Jon stops snarking off and lets Javy cry on one shoulder and Anthony cry on the other - Javy stays in the dugout for a minute.

He stays at the top of the steps and listens to the disconcerted remnants of his home crowd, his now forcibly becalmed sea of blue.

And he looks over toward the Rockies’ dugout, a distant purple wall of smiles and high-fives all around. 

By nature, pennant races are also collections of _what ifs_ and _maybes_.

It could’ve been different. Maybe Javy would’ve tagged Nolan out in exact the same way. Maybe the Cubs would’ve won instead, and Nolan would be standing in the same place, but looking into his dugout. Or maybe Nolan could’ve been Chicago’s resident pain in the ass instead of Colorado’s, always playing third to Javy’s second or short. Maybe some photographer would’ve captured a different hug between Javy and Nolan tonight, one involving champagne and relief and _okay, now let’s go get Milwaukee!_

“Hey, you coming?” Willy says somewhere behind him.

“ _Si._ ” Javy says. “ _Un momento_.”

Well, maybe in another life. 

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year. I am sick, so have some Cubs feels. >.>
> 
> Honestly, just based on this (terrible at linking): https://www.mlb.com/cut4/javy-baez-and-nolan-arenado-hug-after-fielders-choice/c-296931186


End file.
